God, you’ve seen the way the Bible has twisted the lives of Eve and Vashti and Tamar and Mary Magdalene…

And you see how the stories and images of women are twisted today.

We are tired, Mother God.

We are tired of the b-word and the frequent use of the words “whore” and “slut.” We are tired when people in power obviously work to intimidate us more than the men in our lives. We are tired when we are spoken over or told how we should feel. We are tired when we speak out and not believed. We are tired when our sheroes are attacked with greater fervor than the men who hold power. We are tired wheb being refused jobs because of gender (because, let’s face it, our reproductive organs have nothing to do with our qualifications). We are tired of the shame that comes with being born a daughter of Eve.

We are tired that Mother is not a good enough title for you, God.

We are tired of the little comments made to us or about us that make us feel less than human. We are tired of the larger ways our bodies and our accomplishments are tossed aside or belittled. Our energy is spent in ensuring that humanity sees us with the same dignity as cisgender men. Our sisters of color and our transgender siblings must spend even more of their spirits than we who are white women trying to achieve this dignity.

We are exhausted to hear how we should be grateful for the crumbs that have been scattered for us.

Crumbs are no longer enough. We are more than b*tches and whores and ditzes and witches. We will speak out when our voices are ignored, and we will no longer keep our stories silent.

We are worth every single piece of energy you used to mold us in your image. We are your children and deserve the inheritance of your kin-dom on earth as much as our male siblings.

You stand on the side of justice, and one day we will be equal in the eyes of our neighbors just like we are equal in your eyes.

“For if you keep silence at such a time as this, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter, but you and your father’s family will perish. Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.’”

Esther 4:14

For such a time as this…

Sometimes we don’t want to shake our current placid state. Everyone in our cozy corner of the world is (fairly) happy…

And then 50 people are killed and another 50 or so injured by a solo bigoted, biased, homophobic hate-filled shooter. In our cozy corner of the world, we have the privilege to close our eyes, bask in the sun for the rest of the day and forget that tragic incident happened early yesterday morning in Orlando, Florida.

We dodge conversations on the discrimination that happens to our friends of color, the ugly words thrown at our LGBTQ friends, the catcalls and assaults and violence in homes that happens to our sisters, the ways that Muslims feel threatened just by living in this country. We can point our fingers at everyone else that doesn’t look anything like us. It’s their fault… It has to be… I’m just sitting on my cozy corner minding my own business.

But when the hateful rhetoric in our country is getting louder and louder and more people are dying and being abused because of their color, religion, sexual orientation, gender/gender identity/gender expression, then we as people of faith need to stop sitting in our cozy corners and get ourselves out into the world.

For such a time as this, we are called to listen to stories without judgment.

For such a time as this, we are called to open our mouths and speak out every single time we hear hate.

For such a time as this, we are called to be the voice of love in our world.

Esther could have sat in her cozy corner of the world. She could have allowed her kin to be massacred. Instead, she risked her own life to stand up for the lives and well being of others.

Are we willing to do the same? Am I willing to do the same?

For such a time as this, are we willing to call out the voices of hate? When hearing such hateful words against our sisters and brothers, are we willing to name such animosity?

Are we willing to say that our LGBT sisters and brothers are loved by God for who they are?

Are we willing to say that the lives of our sisters and brothers of color matter?

Are we willing to say that the bodies of our sisters are to be respected?

Are we willing to say that our Muslim sisters and brothers shine the light and love of God in our world and that the stereotypes are wrong?

Are we willing to say that our transgender friends are loved by God just as they are?

Are we willing to say all of these words aloud, risking our lives and livelihoods like Esther?

Will we use our privilege to listen, learn and speak to other people of privilege at such a time as this?

May the loving arms of God surround the survivors in Orlando as they heal in body, mind and soul. May the peace of God surround the grieving family members and friends as they come to terms with the violence and hate that robbed them of their loved ones. May the strength of God carry our LGBT, Latinx and Muslim friends as they navigate a world still so threatening. And may God give all of us the courage to speak out against hate in our world. Amen.

I’m not sure that lends me to give my opinions on what is going on in Ferguson, MO. Yet by living in the St. Louis area throughout my entire childhood and having conversations about race and reconciliation inside and outside of seminary classrooms, I have some passionate thoughts on the subject.

If you live in the St. Louis area as I did in my childhood and throughout college and seminary, you notice that many areas are either white or black. While there are a few integrated communities, it seems though each race has their designated space to live.

My first residence was in East St. Louis for the first three months of my life. My parents moved closer to my dad’s work in Belleville. My grandparents, who lived in my first residence, stayed there for another decade. Based on what I remember when visiting them, they may have been the only or one of the few Caucasian families still in their neighborhood.

I remember people often talked about this fear that the people of East St. Louis were going to “move up the hill” to Belleville. People continued and still continue to move farther away from Belleville’s West End because of this fear.

I’m guessing other areas of St. Louis experienced white flight similar to this. Is it because people assumed racial minority equaled dangerous? Or did people continue to hold on to their racism from the 1960’s?

When I entered seminary in my thirties, my friends of color would talk about their fears of living in Webster Groves. I couldn’t understand. To me, Webster Groves was this safe suburban community filled with large homes and prestigious schools.

But that wasn’t the experience of my friends. One told me “I couldn’t go running at night. I just can’t do that – someone will think I did something wrong.” She told me that our black classmates and friends feel that they would be pulled over by police based upon the color of their skin. And then she said something to me that really opened my eyes: “I can’t fully be a whole person in Webster Groves.”

When you live in privileged areas, only some people are given the rights of being made in God’s image. Others have to embrace a lesser form of personhood.

Hearing the words “white privilege” for the first time made me completely uncomfortable. As a woman I don’t feel extremely privileged. Sure, I may not be as privileged as another white person based on my gender or socioeconomic group. There are times that being a woman does not make life easy – especially when it has to do with bodily safety.

But I am privileged beyond what I will ever realize.

I can drive in suburbs and never wonder if I will be pulled over because of my skin color. I will be treated with greater respect at stores. People will not assume I will cause trouble because I am white.

Some time later, I took a class on race and reconciliation. There was one day where the conversation became extremely heated. The pain of what was happening in predominantly black neighborhoods and the discrimination to our sisters and brothers all over St. Louis was expressed very explicitly that day.

That day still remains at the forefront of my memory, especially when watching these events unfold in Ferguson. I recognize the pain as many march on the streets.

From all of these conversations, it was like I took the “red pill” in the movie The Matrix. I can’t unsee the systemic racism that exists in our communities. The flame of justice and peace that was ignited in seminary continues to burn brighter within my soul as I watch news reports of North St. Louis County.

All I can assume is that these acts of protests, riots and looting stem from this deep systemic pain. As a white person, I can’t accurately represent their pain. But from the gift of many conversations, I know it’s there, and they have every right to voice their deep anguish. When people face discrimination, violence, a disproportionate number of incarcerations, lack of quality education programs as well as adequately-paid employment options, food and basic needs, there’s less hope in their communities.

As a Caucasian, I can tell you that we don’t experience what minorities and marginalized people experience. All we can do is try our best to point to injustices that linger in our communities.

What I’m writing here is intended for a primarily white audience — to share my story of privilege awareness. As Caucasians need to start to do our best to see it from a different angle… not from our comfy suburban coves or up on hills away from “those people.”

When a family of color moves into our neighborhood, let’s not contemplate moving to a “whiter” area. Let’s invite our neighbors over for coffee or dinner and begin to build the relationships. When you see the looting on TV, don’t just focus on that one piece of the situation. Instead, focus your eyes on the people who are trying to pray over the communities and lead communities to peace. Listen for the people who are trying to bring all sides together for dialogue, and join those conversations. Notice the people who are trying to stop looters and clean up the messes a few hands have made.

And let’s spend some time with our friends of various background. Maybe we’ll hear the deep pain that resides within them from discrimination.

These are baby steps, but we need to start somewhere.

I believe it was a matter of time before this happened to a community in St. Louis. The people of color in St. Louis have been living in pain that many of us will never understand in our lifetimes. As a white person, I don’t know how to support them as I should, and I know I will fall short.

I will continue to make mistakes. You will continue to make mistakes. We’re human. But how can we be better the next time?

When we misspeak and return to our privileged ways, we need to stand back up and continue to try to bring about God’s kingdom of peace and justice.

And I will say this: I don’t want to hear that the people who are expressing their anguish should be “whipped,” and please stop calling them “those people.” They are part of all of us – part of the Body of Christ, part of God’s creation. No matter what our color, we’re made in God’s image.

Yesterday, the lectionary text was Jesus encountering the Canaanite woman (Matthew 15). Her ethnicity and set of beliefs led Jesus to group her with the “other.” She called Jesus out on his moment of discrimination, and he changed his view of her and his process of ministry to those outside of the Jewish faith.

Let’s be like Jesus, the one who taught us how to set aside our prejudices and love our neighbors unconditionally.

This sermon was delivered at St. Paul United Church of Christ, Old Blue Rock Road, Cincinnati on June 16, 2013.

Luke 7:36-8:3
Galatians 2:11-21

Back in 1963, Martin Luther King Jr. said that the 11 o’clock hour on Sunday morning is the most segregated time of the week. People of different races, ethnic groups attend their own churches. People of various political or theological views also huddle together in their own faith communities.

Even in a 2012 article, it was found that only seven percent of churches with less than 1,000 attendance are multiracial.

We think we’ve come far in this world. No more segregated water fountains. Interracial couples are legally allowed to marry all over our country where it wasn’t legal a few decades earlier. Yet, very often people of a certain color live in one neighborhood while another race lives in a separate area. And, like in 1963, we still celebrate God in very different spaces.

People always use scripture or faith to find ways to separate the “us” from “them” and to distance themselves from “the other.” Back in the 1800’s people used to scripture and faith to justify both slavery and abolition. Texts from Ephesians 6 and Titus 2 were used to affirm slavery whereas proponents of abolition looked at the ongoing Biblical themes of justice and equality to affirm their stance. Still today, there are multiple issues that one side affirms with Scripture as the other side opposes the issue with Scripture as well. And this keeps our communities divided and ever so segregated.

Why do we have this mentality of us versus them? Of course, it’s not new.

In the gospel reading from Luke, we see Jesus eating with a Pharisee. So, yes, Jesus associated with those with greater societal standing. And then a woman who the world sees as the “other” or somehow “less than” comes in and showers Jesus with attention. Jesus affirms that he experiences more love and hospitality from the woman with the lesser reputation than the Pharisee with the better reputation.

We don’t know much about this woman except that she was a sinner. We don’t know what type of sins she engaged in. They could be referring to her more as a law-breaker rather than a sinner. But wasn’t the Pharisee a sinner too?

The Luke text reminds us that Jesus associated with all types of people: women, the unclean, those who were sick. In fact, he didn’t just hang out with them, but he touched them when healing. He allowed them to touch him too. Whether it was touching dead corpses, people with leprosy or the woman with the hemorrhage, when Jesus came in touch with these people, he became unclean like them – at least according to Jewish Law. Scripture never says he went through purification rituals each evening. As our Wednesday study class had learned the other night from the Saving Jesus Redux video, Jesus had become unclean to relate and save the unclean.

If anyone was allowed to be judgmental, it was Jesus. But even Jesus wasn’t that judgmental about sins. He focused his life and ministry on showing love and grace.

In the reading from Paul’s letter to the Galatians, Cephas used to eat with the uncircumcised Gentiles even though he was circumcised. Cephas would eat with those who followed very different food rules.

Then James and the group who followed the law, the Jewish members of the early Jesus movement, came back into town. In order to keep people happy or to have people continue to like them, Cephas and Barnabas ditched their relationships with the Gentiles. This is when Paul confirms that there is something greater that the law that some of them followed: grace. Through that grace, both Jews and Gentiles learn to place their differences aside.

During the first century, people segregated themselves because of their rituals and food choices. Sixty years ago it was water fountains and eating spaces. What are today’s issues?

This gives us the opportunity to ask ourselves from whom would 21st century Christians divide themselves and who would Jesus hang out with today? Those who have engaged in drug use in their past? Those who swear? Our gay brothers and sisters? Interfaith or interracial couples? Those who pass a hungry man on the street? Those who own guns? Those who are against guns? Democrats? Republicans? Liberals? Conservatives? Divorced people or people who live together before they’re married? Maybe all of the above???

Wherever Jesus was, it was probably one of the least segregated places in Israel because people from different groups of people wanted to hear about love and grace. They wanted to experience healing. And Jesus himself hung out with both the Pharisees and the unclean. If Jesus showered all sorts of people with love instead of intense judgment, should we do the same?

We may not agree with our neighbors on how they live their lives. As individuals, we each build our moral codes based upon how we relate Scripture to our sense of reasoning, experience and traditions. And we don’t see Scripture, reason, experience and tradition in the same ways. But we aren’t necessarily given a free pass to shun people just because our faith and their faith doesn’t line up. Just the opposite. We are called to be in the presence of those with whom we would never intend to associate.

Jesus was one who prioritized relationships over rules. He healed the sick on the Sabbath, touched the unclean making himself unclean and ate with all sorts of people. Might Jesus be asking us to place our relationships with others over legalism and minute differences? If Jesus, who some think was perfect, was able to associate with all sorts of people and become unclean to be like them, then we who are definitely not perfect are absolutely called to associate with other imperfect people. And as for me, I’ve experienced some of the greatest hospitality and unconditional love from those who many people consider “unclean” in our society.

The way we each look at faith, at our beliefs are going to be different. At a church like ours, it’s not what you believe because, let’s face it, we’re across the board. And thank God we’re not told what to believe. But even when we are different and we’re individuals, we’re still part of the body of Christ. We’re not called to agree with one another but be one in Christ. We are still in covenant with one another even as we live autonomously. There is the Great Connection, and whether we see it on this side of heaven or that side of heaven, we will see that all of us are loved by God and called to do the same.

So as we go forward in asking ourselves “Where is God calling us” do we need to ask ourselves who is God calling us to invite and include? Are we needing to reflect on who we include and reach out to? What would this church look like if it were filled with those who are so different than us? This would be scary – – yet how would this help us to grow and live out the great commission that the Spirit has be nudging Christians to do for centuries?

As we abide in this most segregated hour of the week, let us find ways to bridge the great divide as there is no longer slave or free, male or female, clean or unclean, us or them, but, instead, one in Christ. Amen.